


carry your world

by badritual



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Evan "Buck" Buckley Whump, Gen, Handholding, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley, M/M, Mention of Minor Original Character Death, Minor Buck Whump, Near Death Experiences, Not Beta Read, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Reference to Near Death Experience, mild flirting, spec fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/pseuds/badritual
Summary: The last thing he remembers is collapsing in the stairwell, the dead weight of the victim slung across his bowing shoulders.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 176





	carry your world

**Author's Note:**

> I've got two exchange fics I should be polishing up but this is what I do instead, smh.
> 
> This is mostly spec fic based on the promos/stills that have been released for the upcoming episodes. It'll be jossed in the next couple of weeks, I'm sure.
> 
> Title from "Atlas," by Coldplay.

The last thing he remembers is collapsing in the stairwell, the dead weight of the victim slung across his bowing shoulders. He’d known they weren’t going to make it but he’d still tried anyway, trying to reconcile with the fact they were both going to die trapped in that burning building with a stranger in their arms.

Buck blinks his eyes open and finds himself staring at haloed light fixtures that make his head pound. He scans his body, lifts his arms, tugs at his hospital gown. It feels like there are tubes and wires attached to every available inch of skin, the monitors they’re connected to beeping and buzzing and droning in his head like insects. Something, some sharp brittle thought, digs into the back of his tender mind. 

It isn’t until he starts groping for a call button that he notices the figure slumped in a padded chair, across from his hospital bed. Buck studies the misshapen lump, eyes tracing the folds of the figure’s black jacket until they start swimming and it gives him a throbbing headache threatening to burst from behind his eyes.

He must make a noise because the lump of jacket is moving then, sitting up, stretching its arms over its head.

“Eddie,” Buck rasps out. 

“Hey, man,” Eddie says, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. His tone is wry when he speaks next. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like I got stepped on,” Buck mutters, curling his fingers in the pale cream afghan spread over his lap. “The victim… Is he…?”

Eddie’s quiet for a few too-long seconds before his throat bobs, then he gives voice to the nagging thought that’s been haunting Buck since he woke up. “He didn’t make it, Buck,” he says, his tone softening around the edges, growing fuzzy like the blanket Buck digs his fingers into now. 

Buck closes his eyes and feels the weight of steel beams and girders crushing down on him. Feels flames licking at his face. The stench of burnt hair fills his nostrils. He tightens his fists in the blanket.

There’s a scraping noise then and Buck forces his eyes open to see Eddie dragging his chair closer to his bed. Eddie leans forward then and slides his hand over Buck’s, gently uncurling his fist. 

“Careful there,” he says, with a laugh that sounds as hollow and empty as Buck wishes his head was right then. “Abuela sent it with me when I came back from Texas.”

Buck glances down at the soft blanket and the back of Eddie’s hand, at his scarred knuckles. “Tell her thanks,” he says, his tone flat and dull.

He knows he should be trying harder, if not for himself then for Eddie. Eddie didn’t come here to hold his hand while he cried. 

“Buck,” Eddie says. 

There are way too many emotions behind that simple syllable. _Buck_ , soft and almost reverent, shattered like the waves dashing themselves against a cliff. Hard and insistent like Eddie’s knuckles. Gentle and careful, the way _Buck_ sounds in Eddie’s mouth, his lips and tongue cradling his name like it’s precious.

Buck looks up and meets his eyes, finally, after what feels like decades of averted glances, shying back from the edge. 

“Yeah?” Buck asks. 

“You don’t have to keep that wall up around me,” Eddie says, dragging his thumb across the back of Buck’s hand in a slow sweep. 

Buck twists his hand away—he doesn’t miss the shock of hurt that alights briefly in those deep brown eyes he’s come to know so well before it’s tamped down—to turn his hand over so that he can grab securely onto Eddie’s. He laces their fingers together and squeezes tightly. 

“Thank you,” Buck says, when he finally finds his voice again. “You should probably be at the station right now, but because I was an _idiot_ and—”

Eddie squeezes back. “Buck,” he says, cutting his self-recrimination short. “You weren’t an idiot. I mean, yeah, sometimes you do things that are a little…short-sighted. But your heart’s always in the right place.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “I ran back into a burning building to save some guy I don’t even know and not only did I not save him, I almost got myself killed too.”

“That’s what I love about you, man,” Eddie says. “You’d do it for anybody. Not because you’re chasing glory or out to impress. Your heart’s so big. You’re so fucking _good_ , man. I wish I could be half as good as you are.”

“You are,” Buck says. 

“I’m just… I dunno,” Eddie says, ducking his head. “I’m constantly in awe of you.”

Buck’s heart constricts in his chest. This feels like a _Moment_. Like, if Buck’s life was a movie the swelling orchestra would kick in and the lighting would turn soft and rosy—and from a flattering angle, always a flattering angle—and maybe he’d lean in, tug Eddie closer until he can see the five o’ clock shadow dusting across Eddie’s cut-glass jawline up close and personal. Maybe he’d finally cast out those nervous butterflies that always seem to pop up when he’s around Eddie and kiss him like he’s wanted to for months. 

But Buck’s still hooked up to every monitor known to mankind, so he doesn’t lean closer and he doesn’t pull Eddie into his lap. Now’s not the time for it, he supposes. Thank God and whoever else was listening to his prayers that night that there’ll be time for it in the future, when everything’s a little less spinny and chaotic .

“I’m in awe of you too, Eddie,” Buck says, for lack of anything better to do with his mouth. At the moment, at least. “Raising Chris on your own, pulling backbreaking hours. You’re a goddamn superhero.”

Eddie chuckles and lifts his head. “Welcome to the mutual admiration society, population: us.”

Buck laughs too and leans back, letting his aching head rest against the mound of pillows propping him up. “Can’t wait to get out of this place and kick both yours and Chris’s butts in Mario Kart.” 

“Got rid of the Wii,” Eddie says, dryly. “We’re doing goat yoga now.”

“You better not have,” Buck says. “How else am I gonna defend my high score?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something else,” Eddie says, with a smirk and a wink. 

If Buck didn’t know any better, he’d think Eddie just threw down a challenge.

Well, he’s laid up for the next few weeks at least. He’s got plenty of time to work on a plan.

**Author's Note:**

> carry your world  
> i'll carry your world  
> carry your world  
> i'll carry your world  
> carry your world, and all your hurt  
> — **atlas** \- coldplay


End file.
